In Memorium

Memorial Day is one of my favorite holidays, it falls in line right after the 4th of July.

When I was just a wee one, Grandma Riggs would load whoever was willing in her brown 2 door Buick (I think it was a Buick, all I really know is that she had a little trash bag hanging from the lighter that read "a clean car runs better" and that the doors were so heavy they would crush your little kid legs while you tried to get in and out. I was afraid of that car.) and we would drive to each of the cemeteries to clean the craves and leave flowers.

She had in her trunk a few big buckets of fresh cut flowers she would get from Gene Summers' house and a bucket of gardening tools. We would go to Provo first, where grandpa was buried and then we would make our way North to the Salt Lake family where Grandpa's father and brothers were.

We cut the overgrown grass from the edges of the graves, washed them down with the buckets of water and then we made these funny wire hanger contraptions that would hold up the bottles of flowers. That is a life skill I love having. It is one of those secret things you can pull out in a pinch.

Grandma passed on and has enough visitors to her grave that it doesn't need the yearly spit shine. Although I don't think anyone visits the Salt Lake family, I don't feel compelled to as I never really knew them and I only went because Grandma told me I should. Perhaps I will reevaluate that for next year.

Now Memorial Day is spent with mom.

Mom has a beautiful plot at the Orem Cemetery with a clear view of her favorite mountains, a selfish investment on our part. It is the perfect spot to sit and watch the comings and goings of the other families and enjoy the amazing assortment of flora. It can't go unsaid that my truly favorite part is the kitschy decor like the plastic heart shaped wreathes that spell "dad", the little plastic fences that contain shrines or the head stones with mystic hunting scenes. It is always nice to have a little giggle in a place that can be so solemn (I hope none of you chose the hunting scene for your headstone. If you did, take a moment and think about the longevity of that decision).


This year, those of us in town gathered at the grave for some delicious food and Heather brought some letters she had found at Grandma Dona's house to read for us.

I have stolen the letter text and photo from Heather's blog so give her a look

I have posted a letter written to my mother from her father, when she was two weeks old. He was fighting some war in France at the time and not until I heard this letter did the true weight of our military family's sacrifice become personal. It made me weep.